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Poem

They were already awake,
The sky dark as the work ahead,
Hands stiff from la tierra,
Feet bruised from the miles,
Yet they never stopped.

The nights were too short,
The days stretched on,
Sleep was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
Still, they pressed forward,
One step, then another.

La tierra gave little,
But took all they had.
Baskets filled with fruit,
Hands worn from the toil,
Every mark, every tear,
A step toward a future
They could only imagine,
But believed in.

Backs bent,
Bruised hands,
Yet their strength remained.
It wasn’t for them;
It was for us.
They worked for a future
That lived only in their dreams.

Every weary limb,
Was woven into a legacy
That endures through time.

What they built isn’t carved in stone,
but in the quiet moments we hold close,
in the lessons that shape us,
in a love that never fades
a legacy that lives within us.

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